


Taking the Mark

by creatures_ofthemind



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creepy Voldemort, POV Draco Malfoy, kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 15:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16621412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creatures_ofthemind/pseuds/creatures_ofthemind
Summary: The moment Draco takes the mark.





	Taking the Mark

**Author's Note:**

> We never actually see the moment that Draco took the mark. Most fans agree that it was pretty much forced upon him. But I thought that this scene needed to be played out because as a character Draco doesn't get enough attention unless it's in a Dramione fic. I also think that at some point Draco would have realized that his father was not all-knowing and that Voldemort was not the right side either.

The halls were cold and his footsteps were silent, maybe as cold and silent as his soul seemed to be. He was ready for this to be over. He didn’t want his home to be occupied by a monster. He didn’t want his mother terrified and reduced to half the woman she had been. Or his father’s dignity in shreds, his magic no more than a muggle’s without his wand. He didn’t want to wake up every day and look around his shoulder for the mad cackling of his aunt, or the slither of scale against stone, or worse: the barefooted silent steps. He wished he could go back to his childhood. The world was right back then. He turned a sharp corner moving deeper into the depths of his childhood home. He had walked this corridor many times before; he used to play under Grandfather Abraxas’s portrait; the steel grey eyes watching his movements when his parents were busy hosting some ball or the other. Young Draco was happy enough with the house elves as company. Now though, this corridor was as deserted as the others, Grandfather Abraxas absent from his portrait frame. The inhabitants of the Manor now preferred to keep to their own rooms, wary of whatever may intrude upon them in the main areas.

Draco hated this deep foreboding in his gut. A Malfoy always trusted his instincts. It was drilled into him by his father. Now his gut told him to run. Leave the Manor, leave Hogwarts and possibly leave England altogether. But he couldn’t. He might not be a bloody Gryffindor but a Malfoy is always loyal to his family, he couldn’t leave his parents to deal with the madman alone. The fact that his father’s foolishness had caused all of this was irrelevant at this point. He wanted curse and scream at his father. What had possessed him to throw in his money, his power on a man like Lord Voldemort? Blood purity be damned, the man was clearly delusional and ruthless. But all of that was in that past. They only had to focus on surviving now.

He approached the giant carved mahogany doors of the drawing room. Carved by the best craftsman and added to the mansion by one of his Malfoy ancestors in the 18th century. He had swallowed his House's Pureblood history like Gospel. 

The room he entered was cloaked in silence. More than a dozen black cloaked figures stood in various positions around the large space. No one moved. All attention was on the one seat in the middle of the room. “Ah young Draco! We have been expecting you, haven’t we Nagini?” the man, if he could be called that, said as the giant snake slithered across her master’s lap and hissed in a language only he could understand. “Yes he does seem quite out of sorts, but that is to be expected. You don’t get an audience with the most powerful wizard alive every day.” He said as the snake continued to hiss. 

Draco wanted to vomit. The raspy, reptilian voice haunted his dreams, whenever he could sleep. His nerves were at an all-time high around the snake, he had seen it swallow men whole after all. He found himself often casting presence revealing spells in his paranoia of not being alone. “The House of Malfoy is always ready to serve, My Lord” his father’s once regal voice held no trace of its former arrogance; it didn’t sound very convincing either. The Dark Lord seemed to think so too. “Do shut up Lucius, I don’t need you singing my praises day and night. Bellatrix does that often enough.” His aunt chortled from somewhere in the room. Lucius shrunk back into the shadows chastised like the simpering mess he had now become. “Draco come here. For your father’s years of service you will now be given the highest of honors.” 

Draco moved closer while all his instincts were telling him to run or spontaneously combust. Either would be preferable to being close to the pale, snake-faced, Heir of Slytherin.  


“I do not understand, My Lord” he was glad he hadn’t squeaked. 

“Speak up boy! You are smarter than your father. Can you not guess what you are about to be given?” Nobody ever accused the Dark Lord of being a patient man.  


Draco did know. He knew and he wished he didn’t. He didn’t want this so called ‘honor’. He felt sick. How could this have been his dream at one point? He knew he had no choice. His father was disgraced, his mother at stake. He wouldn’t past the Dark Lord to have his father torture his mother, or maybe his aunt. The sick bitch would do it too, gladly, happily. He didn’t want to die and he didn’t want his parents to die either. 

“I do not want to presume, My Lord. I do not feel that I have done anything to deserve it.” he didn’t. He really didn’t, he deserved much better than this constant fear.  


“I see much potential in you Draco. I have also wanted to reward Lucius for his years of service. Think of it as a reward for your father’s usefulness...and his recent failures.” The man smirked. It only made him more menacing. “Come Draco, give me your arm. I have other matters to deal with.” 

Draco almost jumped when the cold bony, hands reached for his left forearm. His stomach was crawling, his ears ringing. He felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen going to his brain, or maybe there was too much. He knew taking the Mark hurt like hell. He had seen a few initiations before. But more than that, he didn’t want to be visibly associated with this hideous evil. It was too late for that; the man had moved into his house. He knew what the Death Eaters did and what he would be forced to do. Again, he felt the remains of his breakfast want to make an appearance. 

He wouldn’t be able to name the spell that was used. He didn’t hear the thunderous cheers that filled the room from his Death Eater brethren. Or the feeling of the snake crushing him as it slithered out of the room behind its master. He only felt the deep pain in his arm spread all around his body. Tremors wracked all the way through, as his body tried to reject the dark magic from entering. He was hot and sweaty and shivering cold at the same time. He could vaguely hear his mother call for an elf and his father’s hand on his forehead. But as he opened his eyes, the sight of the slithering snake and skull on his arm sent his senses into overdrive. And as his eyes closed to blissful unconsciousness, he thought he heard maniacal laughter from a raspy voice. Maybe not. The world of unconsciousness welcomed him with open arms. 

When he woke up the next day and was summoned through his new Mark he knew that the laughter was real and why it was suddenly so relevant.


End file.
